Blurred Nights (1st in the Blurred Trilogy)

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  Alinar Publishing

  www.alinarpublishing.com

  Copyright ©2008 by Kallysten

  First published in 2008, 2008

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Coming in 2009 in Blurred Bloodlines

  About the Author

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  Blurred Nights

  Kallysten

  Copyright © 2008 Kallysten

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written consent of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  The right of Kallysten to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First Published October 2008

  First Edition

  All characters in this publication are purely fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Edited by Mary S.

  Cover by Dan Skinner and Kallysten

  ISBN

  1-906023-61-1

  978-1-906023-61-4

  Chapter 1

  The alarm blared through the ghost town, reverberating over piles of rubble and scorched ruins. Even the heavy fog that blanketed everything didn't muffle the deafening, high-pitched noise. Marc winced, and brought his free hand up to cover his left ear even though he knew it was useless. In two hundred and seventy two years, he had rarely regretted the increased acuity of his senses that had come in a neat little package along with his fangs, an appetite for blood, and near-immortality. Nonetheless, at that moment he would have given anything to have the imperfect hearing of a human. Then, he might not have felt as though his skull were about to split open.

  "Three."

  He read the word on Blake's lips more than he heard it, and nodded to show he understood: three demons coming their way. His fingers flexed and tightened over the hilt of his sword. Loose gravel and broken asphalt beneath his feet were hardly the best terrain to fight on, but he had seen worse. Next to him, Blake's entire body tensed, a clear enough warning that he could see the demons approach through the crack in the dilapidated wall they used as cover. It wouldn't be long now.

  Blake looked back at him. With the moon's faint silvery smile piercing the fog at his Childe's right, Marc had no trouble seeing his expression. It matched the excited scent rising from him. Blake wore a faint, hungry smile—the smile of a hunter closing in on his prey. The years Blake had spent as a human had been wasted; he had been born for this, for the hunt and the fight, for ambushes on moonless nights and the thrill of killing.

  A quick flash of Blake's free hand gave a familiar signal. Marc nodded again. Blake would attack first, trusting Marc to follow and guard his back. Marc had long since given up on pointing out that, as Blake's Sire, it was his privilege to lead. Certain things weren't worth the aggravation of yet another argument with his too-stubborn Childe—as long as it was understood that Marc granted him the privilege of attacking first.

  The blaring alarm masked the sound of the demons, but not their smell. The stench of old blood and sulfur was unmistakable. At last, they broke past the edge of their cover. Demons towered over vampires and humans alike at eight and a half feet or more, and they had long arms reminiscent of a gorilla's. Blake slashed at the closest demon, cleanly slicing through the neck, where the battered metal armor joined the helmet. Decapitated, the demon fell to its knees then toppled forward. Before it had hit the ground, its two companions had turned to Blake and raised their weapons. Without the advantage of surprise, they wouldn't be as easy to kill: far from it.

  Blake attacked the one on the left, both hands on the hilt of his sword to lend more strength to the blow. Marc didn't wait to see how the attack landed, and rushed at the demon on the right. Sparks rose when his sword, broader and shorter than Blake's, clashed with his opponent's axe; the sound, however, was drowned out by the alarm, as was the metal-on-metal ring of the blows that followed. He would be lucky to have any hearing left when the fight was over.

  He thrust his sword at the demon's right forearm, hoping to disarm it. The demon deflected the hit by swinging its crescent-shaped axe widely. Marc scrambled back, just enough to avoid being hit, and immediately jumped forward again. He didn't have the protection of metal plates over his chest or even a helmet, but what he lacked in cover, he more than made up for in speed and agility.

  He slashed low, hitting the demon's thigh and pulling a roar from its throat that pierced even through the alarm, then high, landing blows on the shoulder and arm. Again and again he struck, trying to find the opening that would end the fight. The demon swung its weapon repeatedly with pure force and no aim. At a particularly vicious blow, ducking wasn't enough and Marc took three steps to the side. His sword found its way to the demon's exposed side. He pushed hard, and bones shattered.

  The demon struggled enough that Marc had trouble pulling his sword free again, then it fell forward, blood gurgling at its lipless mouth, yellow eyes staring unseeingly. Marc watched it for a few seconds. He had slain hundreds of these beasts, and still he couldn't help being fascinated by their bodies that were never quite identical.

  This one sported a line of bone-white spikes, each as long as Marc's hand, sprouting along its spine and up to the top of its head, so that what Marc had thought was a decorative point on his helmet was actually part of the demon body, appearing through a hole in the helmet. Marc had often wondered if scientists, somewhere, were cataloguing the apparently infinite variations of demon bodies.

  "It took you long enough,” Blake said behind him.

  The sound of Blake's slightly mocking tone made Marc realize the alarm had stopped. His ears still buzzed from the irritating noise.

  "Maybe,” he replied, his narrowed eyes running over Blake. “But at least I didn't let it touch me. Where are you hurt?"

  The sharp, familiar smell of Blake's blood tickled his nose, and he absently rubbed it with the back of his hand.

  "It's just a scratch,” Blake replied with a shrug. He looked around him as though searching for more adversaries. The fog swirled lazily around them, transforming broken walls and piles of debris into menacing figures. “Why do you think the alarm sounded?"

  Marc approached him and took hold of Blake's chin to tilt his angular face into the light of the moon. Blake rolled his eyes but let Marc assure himself he was all right. The cut was shallow, going straight down from just below his right eye to his jaw. It had already stopp
ed bleeding, but the wound glared an angry red on Blake's pale skin. It would heal, and in a few weeks there wouldn't even be a scar left. A few inches higher, however, would have had a much different result. He had sometimes told Blake he was too pretty for his own good, but that didn't mean he ever wanted him to lose one of his dark, piercing eyes.

  Without a second thought, Marc leaned in and flicked his tongue over the drying blood along the wound. Blake stilled completely beneath his touch, and for once didn't say a word or ask silly questions. Marc had his answer ready, just the same. He was doing this because the demons’ sense of smell was as good as their own where blood was concerned, and Blake's blood would give them away. His thirst was completely irrelevant, as was the wondrous taste of his Childe's blood. He didn't need to voice the lie.

  "I don't know why it sounded,” Marc answered at last, letting go of him to survey their surroundings. “But what I want to know is why it stopped. If someone else broke into the town, the demons must have slaughtered them."

  Blake snorted and bent down to wipe his sword on the crude pants of the second demon he had killed. “Probably some human fighters,” he muttered. “Too stupid to realize they're out of their league."

  "Or maybe they found the breach,” Marc said, “instead of wandering like fools. And if they did, the demons are going to guard it even more tightly. We'll have to come back."

  After a last glance around them, he started back toward the road where the car waited. At least, he thought it was the right direction. Between the thick gray fog that covered everything and the ruins blocking entire streets, transforming the city into a labyrinth, he had to rely more on instincts than sight. Blake followed, but not without his usual whining.

  "Come on, who cares if they reinforced their security? You've seen how easily we took those three! We could take a dozen more, you and me. And we'd make it a great fight!"

  Marc struggled not to grin. He didn't want to encourage Blake's cockiness and boasting. Trust him to argue against retreating even if the odds screamed otherwise. He was too predictable, sometimes.

  "We're not here to take on the demon army,” he reminded his Childe. “We can't afford—"

  He stopped abruptly and stared ahead into the fog. At his side, Blake did the same and took a deep breath in through his nose.

  "Five?” Blake murmured, so low that no one but a vampire could have caught the word.

  "Maybe,” Marc replied, just as quietly. “At least three wounded. Can you smell any demon close?"

  A few seconds passed before Blake answered. “No. But they won't take long, with that lot reeking of blood."

  "Come on. Let's see if they need our help getting out of here."

  He slipped his sword back into the scabbard hanging from his belt at his left and raised both hands to show he wasn't armed.

  "Do we have to?” Blake complained, but he too put away his weapon in the scabbard on his back and raised his hands.

  They walked together toward the cotton-cloaked remains of a house on their right, where quiet voices, hammering heartbeats and the mixed scents of fear and blood announced the presence of humans as clearly as a beacon. The door had long ago been ripped away from its hinges, leaving a gaping opening like a wound on the standing façade of the derelict building.

  "Stop or I'll fire,” a man called from straight ahead of him just as Marc passed the threshold. “Who are you? What are you doing here?"

  Marc obeyed and stilled. He took a discreet look around. On his right, in the corner formed by two almost-intact walls, a standing man held a ball of light in his hand. The light bathed a second man lying on the ground and a woman kneeling by his side, her hands busy over his leg. The smell of blood was stronger in that direction. A pile of debris hid the man who had spoken, with only his head peeking out. Smears of dark green and black camouflage paint covered his face, and the colors made his eyes seem brighter.

  "Fire?” Blake snorted behind Marc. “Don't tell me they still think rifles can help against demons. Won't they ever—"

  "Be quiet,” Marc hissed, just as a second voice rose from the left, this time a woman.

  "He meant he'll fire his crossbow. Wooden arrows. You ought to know he's a pretty good shot.” She stood from her crouch behind a pile of rubble, and took a few steps toward them. The crossbow in her hands remained steady as she lined up a shot toward Marc's chest. “And so am I. So you'd better answer."

  The woman had to be five foot four at the most, counting the thick heels of her combat boots. The black pants and black Kevlar jacket were standard for anyone fighting demons, since their eyesight wasn't too good at seeing dark colors. Like the man, she wore camouflage make-up. The end of a thick braid of hair rested over her shoulder. In addition to the crossbow, a sword hung at her left side, and knife sheaths sprouted on her right thigh and arm.

  "My name is Marc,” he answered, looking back at the man who had first asked him. “This is Blake.” He tilted his head back briefly, indicating his immobile Childe, standing just behind him. “She's right, we're vampires. But there's no need for stakes. We mean you no harm. We heard you, and we thought you might need help."

  He looked pointedly at the corner, where the second woman still worked on the wounded man. The mage looked a little unsteady, and the ball of light flickered for a moment before stabilizing. Marc was ready to bet he was turning green beneath his camouflage.

  "How do we know you're not with them?” the man challenged.

  Marc frowned at him, puzzled. “With whom?"

  Before he had a chance to answer, Blake cursed and pushed Marc inside. “Fuck. Told you they'd smell the blood. You couldn't have chosen another time to chitchat?"

  Marc stood on the left side of the door, his back to the wall. Pulling out his sword, he motioned for the girl to lower her crossbow. On the right side, Blake was ready as well.

  "What's—"

  Blake shushed the leader and replied in a whisper. “Demons. Four."

  "Five,” Marc corrected him. “They're almost here. How many of you—"

  "Daniel, we can't fight in here,” the woman cut in urgently, addressing her leader and ignoring Marc. “Not with Sammy hurt. They'd slaughter him and Sasha."

  "And me,” the mage squeaked.

  "Then we'll take the fight outside,” Daniel agreed, finally standing up from behind his cover. “Simon, work on a glamour to conceal the three of you in case they come in. Kate, sword out."

  Daniel limped around the rubble and swung his crossbow over his shoulder. When he stood in front of Marc, he gave him a serious look and held out his hand. Marc shook it.

  "I still don't know what you're doing here,” Daniel said, “but for now it seems our fortunes run together."

  He didn't give Marc a chance to reply. With a look at the woman he had called Kate, he led the way outside; she followed, sword in hand.

  "Human fighters,” Blake sighed, his eye-roll all too clear in his voice.

  "Quiet, Childe,” Marc replied, starting after Daniel and Kate. “Take his back, I'll take hers."

  "If you insist we've got to help them, you could at least leave the cute one to me."

  For all his grousing, Blake went to stand by Daniel's side even as Marc approached Kate. She threw him a cool glance, with the smallest hint of a smile. Marc nodded at her before turning his attention to the demons. They were no more than twenty yards away and already raising their weapons, snarling to intimidate their adversaries. The fog added a surreal element to their frightful appearance, giving the illusion that they were appearing out of thin air. Marc rolled his shoulders and prepared. This fight would be a little different from the one earlier, with humans to protect and more demons to fight, but in the end, killing was always the same.

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  Chapter 2

  With sunrise less than an hour away and the lingering fog hiding the road only a few yards in front of the car, Blake was fuming. He pressed a little harder on the gas pedal and glared in
the rearview mirror at the humans piled up on the back seat. Marc's car had received multiple custom modifications, but it had never been meant to accommodate seven people.

  Daniel, the mage Simon and the medic Sasha had squeezed into the back seat, with their wounded comrade Sam curled up on their laps. Kate was taking advantage of her small frame to sit between Blake and Marc in the front. They had thrown all the weapons in the trunk, which added to Blake's discomfort. He was used to having a weapon within reach at all times. He would have said he felt naked without his sword, except that being naked hadn't made him uncomfortable since his siring.

  The scent of blood was strong in the car, tantalizing, since Blake was famished after a night of fighting, but it was another scent that bothered him. Even after Blake and Marc had helped Daniel and his people, even after they had escorted them back to their truck only to find it had been torched by demons, even after Marc had offered to drive all of them back to their camp, the humans still smelled of wariness or fear. Blake doubted they'd have smelled any different if two demons had offered them a ride. Only Kate and Daniel seemed not to be so uncertain.

  "We're getting close,” Daniel said from the back. “After that hill, there's a smaller road on the left."

  Sam had argued with Daniel when he had accepted Marc's offer, much like Blake had argued with his Sire. However, while Blake's main argument had been that they had better things to do than baby-sit humans, Sam's had revolved on the fact that they shouldn't lead vampires to their base, not before they were ‘checked,’ whatever that meant. Neither Marc nor Daniel had listened to them.

  Blake had to slow down to find the road Daniel had indicated. He could have easily missed it in the gray swirls that spread out over the landscape. The dirt road was uneven where the rain and passing cars had eroded patches of earth. The car swayed from side to side every time he was unable to avoid a muddy hole, and more than once Kate's small, warm body ended up pressed against his side before she could hurriedly pull back. He might have aimed for a few potholes on purpose. The feel of her wasn't particularly unpleasant. The oversized jacket she wore hid her body, but it seemed there were unexpectedly interesting curves beneath the aged leather.